


wednesday afternoons

by spider_momo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, No plot just fluff, Post-Time Skip, Romance, Soft Boyfriends Being Soft, obligatory atsumu clowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spider_momo/pseuds/spider_momo
Summary: a small peek at the sickeningly adorable ways sunaosa spend their lazy afternoons together <3
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	wednesday afternoons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broikawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broikawa/gifts).



> happy february! 
> 
> here's my sunaosa exchange gift for percy.  
> literally just sunaosa fluff sorry for the lack of plot oops
> 
> i hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> (thank you to all the sunaosa exchange mods for hosting this lovely event!)

“I’m breaking up with you, Osamu.”

“...Come on, don’t be like that.”

“I’m sorry. But I just can’t live like this anymore.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at ya, ‘kay?”

“I’ve already made my decision.”

“Rin, babe, don’t be so dramatic…”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Osamu.” 

“Rin!” Osamu lets out a laugh, half-amused, half-hysterical. “It’s just a game!”

The TV displays their epic loss: only 10 points away from passing level 3-3 on Overcooked 2. 

“I do not enjoy this game.” Rintarou tosses his controller aside, flopping backwards onto the ground. Osamu sets his own controller on the table in front of them before turning his attention back to Rintarou. 

“Hey,” he pokes at Rintarou’s waist, “You’re not really breaking up with me ‘cause of a video game, right?”

“I don’t like the person you become when we’re playing this,” Rintarou sighs, dramatic and theatrical as ever, and throws his arm over his eyes.

“I said I’m sorry for yelling,” Osamu pokes at him some more. 

“This game is literally impossible!” Rintarou sits up again, scowling at the disappointed Onion King, anger no longer directed at Osamu but the game itself. 

“I mean, ‘Tsumu and I finished it no problem,” Osamu mumbles, grabbing his iced tea and taking a sip. It was true; Atsumu and he breezed through all the levels, requiring only a handful of tries to get past the harder levels. “I guess you and I just don’t have that kind of synergy,” Osamu sighs. 

“Die.” Rintarou snatches Osamu’s drink away, taking an aggressive slurp of it before setting it out of Osamu’s reach. _Petty bitch._

“Okay, okay. We don’t have to play anymore,” Osamu laughs, turning the console and television off. “ _Yeesh_.”

Rintarou says nothing; he crosses his arm and stares out the window. 

“Are ya still mad?” Osamu croons, crawling closer towards him. No response. Osamu shakes his head with an amused smile and shuffles even closer. He wraps his arms around Rintarou’s neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek, pulling apart with an audible _mwah!_

“Don’t be mad,” Osamu murmurs in a sweet voice, nuzzling at his boyfriend’s neck. 

“I don’t wanna play anymore,” Rintarou mumbles, staring off to the side. 

“Okay. Let’s do something else then,” Osamu says, lips brushing lightly against the skin on Rintarou’s neck, hand smoothing back a few stray pieces of Rintarou’s hair. “What do ya wanna do instead?” 

“Mmm…” Rintarou hums, taking a moment to think. “How about—” and in a swift and graceful motion, Rintarou turns around, tackling Osamu to the ground. He hovers over Osamu, one hand cradling the back of Osamu’s head and the other grasping at Osmau’s hip. “Something a little more fun?” 

Osamu, lost in the mischievous sparkle in Rintarou’s eyes, only manages to nod his head, breathless and semi-delirious. Rintarou smirks down at him; a strand of his hair has fallen out of place, falling over his left eye. Osamu reaches up to tuck it away, gasping when Rintarou swoops down and sucks on his bottom lip. 

The back of Osamu's mind (that tiny bit with a few operating brain cells left) thinks they should probably get off the floor, or at least move over so they’re not so dangerously close to the table. Too bad the rest of Osamu’s brain is too caught up in a mantra of _Rin’s lips, Rin’s hands, Rin’s thighs, Rin, Rin, Rin, Rin_ … 

Leave it to Rintarou to prove that he and Osamu excel in a _different_ kind of synergy. 

🖤🍙🖤

Steady hands pour hot water into two ceramic cups, in slightly circular motions. The hot water permeates the layers of the teabag, turning the liquid into a rusty orangey-red colour. The smell of tea and spice wafts through the air, steam swirling upwards before dissipating into nothingness. 

Osamu lets the tea seep, bobbing the teabags up and down a few times before setting the string down. He doesn’t bother asking Rintarou how much milk or sugar he’d like, having long since learned the way his boyfriend drinks his tea (a 1:4 ratio between milk and water and a teaspoon of honey instead of white sugar). 

When the tea has finished steeping, Osamu removes the bags, tossing them into the compost. He squeezes the bear-shaped honey bottle, letting the viscous, golden sweetener swirl up on the teaspoon, before mixing it into the tea, swirling the spoon until it comes out clean. He repeats the process for his own cup. On his way to the refrigerator, Osamu puts away the honey. Grabbing the milk, Osamu pours a few splashes into each cup, mixing the tea one last time. 

When the tea is finally ready, Osamu places one of the cups in front of Rintarou, who sits on one of the barstools across the counter. He’s watching Osamu, cheek resting against his palm, eyes sparkling with mild interest. 

Osamu blinks at him, tilting his head, “What is it?”

“You have nice hands,” Rintarou shrugs, picking up his teacup and taking a small sip, eyes flickering up to Osamu’s briefly. 

Osamu looks down at his hands; nails trimmed neatly so as not to get in the way when he’s shaping onigiris, his palms a pinkish colour as they always were, the veins on the back of his hand protruding less than usual. Has he had enough water today? 

All in all, they’re just hands, Osamu thinks. He shakes his head, sipping his own tea quietly. 

After a few minutes, Rintarou reaches over, weaving the fingers of his right hand through Osamu’s left, thumb skimming over the juncture between Osamu’s index finger and thumb. Rintarou’s attention is entirely directed towards their intertwined hands; Osamu notices the soft look on his boyfriend’s face as he gently squeezes Osamu’s hand, fingers slotting between Osamu’s knuckles like a perfect puzzle. 

Osamu feels a warm blush rise to his cheeks. He looks away, attempting to appear nonchalant as possible as he sips his tea. Rintarou gently lifts Osamu’s hand, pressing a sweet, warm kiss to his knuckles. Osamu flushes harder, nearly choking on the warm liquid. Osamu looks away, gazing out the window, eyes roaming over the cloudy skies. He does his best to look calm and collected (and totally not flustered at all).

Judging by the boastful smirk of Rintarou’s face, Osmau does not succeed. 

Osamu, in a fit of annoyance, tips Rintarou’s cup back the next time he goes to take a sip, causing tea to spill all over his chin and sweater. 

It seemed justified at the time. But the vexed look Rintarou sends his way suggests his boyfriend feels otherwise.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry…” Osamu rushed over to the other side of the aisle, tissues in hand. He dabs at the area, sheepishly avoiding looking Rintarou in the eyes. Until, Rintarou grasps at Osamu’s jaw, thumb and index finger pressing into the skin, forcing Osamu to look directly at him. 

“Wha—” He is prematurely silenced by a searing kiss, the lingering sweetness from the tea mingling on their lips and tongue. 

“Stupid,” Rintarou mutters after pulling away, leaving Osamu in a daze, his mind a swirl of confusion and affection. 

Osamu’s hands no longer feel steady. They shake, slight tremors in his fingers as they grasp at the fabric of Rintarou’s sweater, as Rintarou pulls him up onto his lap, his lips finding Osmau’s once again. 

Rintarou doesn’t seem to mind, however, too busy holding Osamu steady as they continue to make out in their kitchen. 

The tea has long grown cold by the time they’re done. 

🖤🍙🖤

“Oh _hoho_ . What is _this?_ ” 

“Hey, quit snoopin’ through my stuff!” Osamu lunges towards Rintarou but that bendy bastard leans out of the way, a mildly worn out scrapbook held high in his left hand. Osamu knew he should have hidden his embarrassing childhood memorabilia away after he and Rintarou moved in together. It would have been better just to not bring any at all but Osamu is dumb and sentimental like that. And now he’s paying the price. 

“Just a quick looksie,” Rintarou promises, turning around and flipping through the pages. “Oh wow,” Rintarou whistles, eyes roaming over the neatly lined pictures and copious stickers adorning the slightly faded pages. 

“O _samu_ ,” Rintarous faux gasps, a teasing grin on his face. He turns the scrapbook around to show Osamu a picture of a small child, his cheeks covered in glitter and sparkles, two teeny-tiny pigtails sprouting from his short locks, hugging a stuffed cat plush against his chest with a sad pout on his face. 

“That’s Atsumu,” Osamu lies automatically. 

“Really?” Rintarou raises an eyebrow, wholly unconvinced. He looks down at the page again, “ _Osamu, March 1999. Cried because Atsumu wouldn’t play Sailor Moon with him._ ” Osamu ignores the pointed look sent his way. Damn his mother for always meticulously documenting everything he and Atsumu ever did. 

“Oi, don’t you got anything better to be doin’ right now?” Osamu snatches the scrapbook away and marches off with it, ignoring the sounds of Rintarou’s ringing laughter that follows him.

“Hey, come back! I wasn’t done lookin’,” Rintarou follows after him, fingers grasping the back of Osamu’s shirt. Osamu keeps walking, no particular destination in mind, pulling Rintarou along with him. 

Rintarou is still laughing, forcing Osamu to stop stalking away when he wraps his arms around Osamu’s middle, pulling him back against his chest. 

“Hey, are you really that mad?” Rintarou asks, squeezing Osmau gently.

“No,” Osamu says, deflating as he’s slightly embarrassed for getting so worked up. “You’re just annoying as hell, I guess.”

“M’sorry,” Rintarou kisses Osmau’s neck, pecking his way up to Osamu’s jaw, and then behind his ear. 

“No you’re not,” Osamu rolls his eyes. He’s well aware that his boyfriend is simply trying to butter him up so he can sneak another peek at the damn scrapbook. 

That doesn’t mean it’s not working though...

Thankfully, Atsumu’s pictures are just as horrifyingly embarrassing so Osamu isn’t going down totally alone. In fact, Rintarou seems to totally forget Osamu’s picture when he stumbles upon a shot of little Atsumu covered in cake and icing, mid-sneeze. Osamu suddenly feels a bubble (a teeny-tiny bubble) of gratitude towards his brother. Disgusted, Osamu shoots Atsumu a text consisting only of the words _thank you_ , alleviating the uncomfortable feeling of indebtedness. 

**tsumu 🤡** [2:11 PM]  
_???  
_ _For what  
_ _?  
_ _HEY ANSWER ME U CRYPTIC FUCK_

🖤🍙🖤

When Rintarou gets home, the light melody of a vaguely familiar indie-pop song reaches his ears after he opens the front door. The sounds become louder as he approaches the kitchen area, where he finds his boyfriend humming along as he scoops out cookie dough onto a lined tray.  
  
Osamu doesn’t seem to notice Rintarou’s arrival; he’s too busy humming along with the music, fingers delicately shaping to spoonfuls of dough on the cookie sheet. It’s a small, almost unnecessary detail, but Osamu likes his cookies to be as close to perfect circles as possible, always going back to sculpt them with the tips of his fingers, smoothing down any spikes of dough and rounding the edges. 

Rintarou comes closer, the smell and vanilla and sugar pairing well with the sweet melodies of Osamu’s baking playlist. Osamu still hasn’t noticed him. He turns around to quickly wash his hands and Rintarou takes the opportunity to sneak up behind him. 

“Ah!” Osamu lets out a soft shriek when Rintarou wraps his arms around Osamu’s waist in a tight hug. “Don’t _do that_ ,” Osamu swats at the back of Rintarou’s hand. 

“I was just fixing your apron,” Rintarou grins into Osamu’s neck, pressing a quick kiss to the exposed skin. He pulls back a bit and re-ties the slightly loose strings, forming a perfect bow at the small of Osamu’s back. 

He takes a moment to look at how the tightly wrapped apron makes Osamu’s waist look so slim and tapered, his shoulders broad and wide. Rintarou admires the view, looking Osamu’s backside up and down appreciatively. His hands rest on Osamu’s waist, fingers drumming over his hip bones. He steps forward, nuzzling at Osamu’s neck. Osamu’s thick black hair tickles at his nose and forehead. 

“Go away,” Osamu nudges as Rintarou half-heartedly, “M’busy.” 

“Mmm, two more minutes,” Rintarou bargains, pressing a brief kiss to Osamu’s cheek and pressing another below his ear. He hugs Osamu tighter, swaying slightly to the light tune of the soft pop song playing from Osamu’s speaker. 

Intoxicated by the smell of chocolate chip cookies and the pleasing warmth from hugging Osamu, Rintarou lets out a contented sigh, his cheek pressing against the side of Osamu’s head. 

“Hey, I gotta get the cookies,” Osamu taps the back of Rintarou’s hand. 

“Fine,” Rintarou released his boyfriend, even though his two minutes weren’t up yet. 

Rintarou takes a seat on the other side of the island, plopping himself down on the barstool, slumping forward, cheek squished against his palm. He watches as Osamu slips on a weathered pair of oven mitts and grabs a tray of perfectly rounded cookies out of the oven. 

They smell amazing; Rintarou’s mouth waters at the smell and sight. Osamu cuts one in half with the edge of the spatula, double-checking to make sure the inside is done. Satisfied, Osamu sets aside the spatula and oven mitts and puts the second tray into the oven, setting a timer on his phone. 

Rintarou reaches to grab the cut cookie only to have his fingers smacked out of the way. 

“It’s hot,” Osamu chastises, “Wait a few minutes.” 

“Nag much?” Rintarou mutters, eyeing the cookies longingly. 

“Just don’t wanna hear _you_ complain about a burnt tongue,” Osamu flicks some flour in Rintarou’s direction. 

Rintarou flinches, right eye screwing shut to avoid being hit by the puff of flour. He sighs, leaning down and resting his cheek on his forearms, waiting patiently until Osamu allows him to try one. 

Osamu continues to line the dough up on the last tray, scraping his metal spoon against the side of the bowl to get every last bit. It’s a lovely sight, Rintarou thinks, watching as the pale light from outside shines on Osamu, enveloping him in a dim halo, and the mellow music drifting through the air, mingling with Osmau’s soft hums. 

With a sight like this, Rintarou thinks he can manage to be patient for a little bit longer. 

(Only a little though, because there are freshly baked cookies waiting.)

🖤🍙🖤

**Author's Note:**

> i just think sunaosa would be disgustingly domestic 
> 
> thank you for reading! kudos & comments are very much appreciated! <3
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/petiteshoyo)


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